


A Health to Those Who Dance By the Fires

by HicSuntDracones



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), Awesome Morgana (Merlin), Beltane, Boys In Love, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone is in love and it is good, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Girls in Love, Gwen & Arthur Pendragon Friendship (Merlin), Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Merlin & Morgana Friendship (Merlin), Merlin is a Little Shit, Mistaken Identity, They're friends who roast each other and that is the good stuff en mi opinion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HicSuntDracones/pseuds/HicSuntDracones
Summary: For the first time in known history, Camelot is hosting a Beltane masquerade that is open to everyone from the human and Fae territories alike. It promises to be a grand event that will end with a set of engagements to seal alliances between Fae and human rulers. That is, until a pair of Fae troublemakers decide to crash the party. What happens when a witch and a featherbrain fall in love with a blacksmith and a prince?
Relationships: Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	A Health to Those Who Dance By the Fires

**Author's Note:**

> This story began life as a three sentence drabble scribbled in my notebook about two months ago. It is now an extensive story with plot points and relationships I hadn't even considered when I first started writing it. This was so fun to get into because in a crazy world, a bit of funny flirting and some sibling relationships is a great distraction from everything else going on.  
> The tropes are hungry, my dudes. Go feast!

Once there were two realms. As per the usual in these kinds of stories, one was filled with quite ordinary humans and the other was filled with magical creatures of all sizes and sorts. 

In the human realm, there were many queendoms and kingdoms that were alternatively great friends or vague enemies, so these people practiced crafts and farming and peaceable things just as much as the soldiering and bladesmithing and fighting arts. In one of the medium sized queendoms, two children were being raised in this slightly contradictory manner; learning how to weild and forge weapons one day and attending singing and weaving lessons the next. They were a girl and a boy with proper names that had never really had an occasion to be used, and so went by the almost matching nicknames of Gwen and Gwyn.

Gwen was dark and curly-haired with smiling eyes and an apprenticeship in a smithy, while Gwyn was fair and sky-eyed and always smiling at something-usually Gwen-when he went about his soldier’s training. They grew up great friends, and nearly everyone who knew them thought they would be wed someday.

In the magical realm, there were many magical tribes that were part creature, part human, and occasionally something else altogether, so these people practiced spell-casting, star-craft, and wort cunning as they lived alongside dragons and gryphons and bastets. In one of the sacred places of a Fae lake tribe, two children were being raised to pursue the confusing and rewarding magical arts; learning how to brew healing potions and summon storms as well as speak with dragons and undo curses. They were a girl and a boy who had proper names that had never had an occasion to be used, so they went by the monikers of Gainé and Merlin. 

Gainé was bright eyed and bold-tongued, clever and a powerful sorceress to boot, while Merlin was gangly and giggly and always following his friend around and getting into trouble because of it. They were best friends and cousins besides, and fully intended to never let anyone come between them.

“MERLIN!” A very loud summoning spell rings in Merlin’s ears, startling him so badly that he’s nearly singed by the drake he and his mother were wrangling. Aithusa, despite being bigger than most horses, is still young enough to not be able to speak, and she’s pretending she doesn’t know very well that it’s time to clear out of the hatchling caverns so this year’s new mothers and hatchlings can have a space. To add to the issue, she’s started sparking recently, so Merlin and Hunith are both sporting small burns and plenty of soot on their arms and faces.

A second summoning spell floats into the cave, a golden ball of light that gets far too close to his ear before popping and releasing it’s message of “MERLIN!”

“Is that Gainé ?” Hunith asks, wrapping her arms around Aithusa’s snout, much to the frustration of the feisty drake. She proceeds to give the two of them the biggest and most pitiful hatchling-eyes, but they ignore her. 

Merlin holds down Aithusa’s thrashing wings, trying not to show that he desperately wants to go see what Gainé is up to. “Of course it is, the world revolves around her, don’t you remember?” 

“Don’t be cheeky,” Hunith admonishes with a smile. Her dark hair is escaping it’s ties, there’s a great deal of soot on her face, and she’s shaking slightly with the effort of holding Aithusa’s mouth shut. She is also flush with life and incredibly happy. The life of a dragon rider suits her rather well, even if she was born to the same tribe that resulted in Gainé.

Hunith’s sister or cousin was Vivianne, leader of the Lake people of Avalon Isle and an infamous priestess of great magical skill even compared to the ancient traditions of her order. She and Hunith had been raised on the Isle together, and taken very different paths. Most girls born to Avalon took vows to the Goddess at a young age, and dedicated their lives to her service. This required extensive study of magic, adherence to many complex rituals, and following a strict code of behavior that did allow for intimacy and the bonds of sisterhood but still had far too much propriety for Hunith’s taste. At eighteen, she’d left Avalon when her mother wasn’t looking, fully intending to have some adventures and have a bit of fun before she decided what she wanted to do with herself. She traveled with some witches for awhile, made great friends among the selkies, and even visited the human realm a few times. Then, one morning as she was leaving a fairy circle, she was almost eaten by a dragon.

The dragon turned out to be an alright sort of fellow, and even apologized for mistaking her for a sheep. The dragon’s rider just stared unabashedly at Hunith, who, up until the dragon had started talking, had been fully prepared to stab his snout with her favorite bronze dagger. Once the young rider recovered his wits, he introduced himself as Balinor and offered to give the fierce wandering woman a lift to wherever she happened to be going. Hunith had no particular destination in mind, but hopped on anyway. 

Six years and many misadventures later, they were married by a Druid cousin of Hunith’s, a cranky old man who took great offense at Hunith’s six-month pregnant belly until she told him to shut up and get on with it, they’d been busy, all right? Balinor was still staring at her in wonder, as he’d been doing since the first day they met. 

Three months after that, Vivianne found her way to the dragon rider’s enclave within Mount Greensmoke. With her to visit her cousin and new nephew was her three year old daughter. Gainé being the first one to notice that “His eyes glow like mine, Mother!” served as the catalyst for many sleepless nights taking care of magical toddlers as well as a lifelong friendship. 

All Merlin’s earliest memories were of toddling after his almost-sister as she got them into the best kinds of trouble. They found their way into spell-circles, drake training caves, and libraries alike, learning spells that were far too advanced for them and usually resulted in something having to be cleaned up.(Or, on one memorable occasion, the hurried retrieval of a seven and four year old from the top of a mountain after a teleportation spell went rather wrong.) The pair’s mischief only deepened when they began their magical training in earnest; Gainé had ambitions to follow in her mother’s footsteps as the next Lady of Avalon, and Merlin honestly needed to be supervised to prevent things from being accidentally burned down. So, the pair were sent back and forth from Avalon to Greensmoke to be educated and give their parents a break. 

At twenty-two, Gainé was now a Seer and Sorceress of considerable power who had long since graduated from childish schemes to more serious and dangerous adventures such as kelpie-taming, storm-summoning, and other similar plots that Merlin was sure would drive him to the grave before he turned twenty. He didn’t mind as much as he pretended to, though. The cousins were rather strange even when compared to other Fae children, so they were glad to have each other’s company.

So after a third summoning spell unceremoniously demands Merlin’s presence at Gainé’s side, he looks to his mother with wide pleading eyes not too different from Aithusa’s. Hunith just rolls her eyes, holding Aithusa a little tighter and pushing her towards the cave’s exit. 

“Just open the hatch and then you can go,” she relents with the fondly exasperated tone of someone who has had this exact conversation many times before. “I’ll get this stubborn one out of here, you go find Gainé.” 

Merlin is already running out of the cave, yelling “Thanks Mum!” behind him. 

“Wait, wait! Open the hatch!” Hunith points to the ceiling.

Merlin stops, silently raising a hand. His eyes glow gold as he moves a huge stone cover away from the natural skylight without a spell. 

“Alright Aithusa, come on,” Hunith whispers in the drake’s ears. “Time to go. You’re going to love it out there.”

Merlin joins in with the cajoling, “Come on, it’s summer out there Aithusa, all sun and small animals for you to eat.” The drake looks at the sky visible through the hole intensely, limbs coiling as she considers taking off. 

“You can do this, little one. Go fly!” With that, Hunith releases the drake, and Aithusa doesn’t waste another moment before shooting off into the promise of sunny skies. Mother and son watch her go, knowing that now it’ll be a whole other battle to get her to come back inside.

“You can go to Gainé now.” Hunith sighs. Merlin kisses his mother on the forehead before turning to leave, but Hunith grabs his arm before he can get very far. “Just be back before dawn and don’t do anything stupid for Beltane, you hear me?” She raises her eyebrows, emphasizing how unlikely it is that he will listen.

“Yes, Mum.” Merlin clasps his arms behind his back, the picture of an obedient son.

“Your father and I have duties to attend to tonight, so I’d prefer it if you were home earlier.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“I know you won’t be.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Just stay out of trouble, please.”

“I’ll do my best.” Merlin says with a smile. 

“Love you”

“Love you too.” Merlin gives Hunith another kiss before running out of the cave, already looking forward to whatever trouble his cousin has planned.

Leaving the hatchling cave, Merlin expertly weaves through the tunnels of Greensmoke in search of Gainé. Even if his mother’s people are Lake-dwellers, he has always felt more comfortable under the craggy peaks and rocky walls of dragon-rider territory. As children, he and Gainé had explored every inch of Greensmoke’s tunnels and caves, so Merlin knows just where she’ll be waiting for him. 

This is their little ritual; after their official schooling had been completed, they were expected to more or less stay at home and settle into their chosen professions. As Gainé intended to rule an island someday, this meant there was not as much time for visits as there should be. They found ways around this of course, but Beltane was special. For three days before the summer festival, Gainé would be taking up residence at Greensmoke. For the three days after, Merlin would be staying in Avalon. That was six whole days to get up to the kind of mischief that only a life and fertility festival could inspire. 

Merlin emerges from the mountain onto a sunny field. His eyes need no time to adjust, as he is Fae, and half dragon-tribe at that. There are plenty of small oddities around children like that, and semi-reptilian eyes were the least of these. He scans the field before him, which is normally used for farming, but this year lies fallow. The only real growth is a giant apple tree smack in the middle of the field. It had not been there the last time Merlin came to this field, so it’s safe to assume that the unnatural growth is the work of the sorceress sitting high in the tree branches. 

Gainé pretends not to notice her cousin tramping across the field, instead weaving simple light spells and causing balls of light to chase each other through the tree branches. When she does finally acknowledge Merlin waiting at the base of the tree, she sends little creatures of light and dust down to bother him.

“Gainé!” He shouts as he is tickled by an incorporate squirrel. Gainé still pretends not to notice, making her light creations torture her cousin a few minutes more. Several rabbits and miniature dragons send him to the ground as she giggles, delighting in the torment. The future leader of Avalon has a little bit of a mean streak, but it is mostly consumed by harmless fancies such as this. 

When she’s finally ready, she looks down and exclaims, “ _ Oh there you are _ !” dramatically clasping a hand to her chest as the animal apparitions disappear. She smiles a wicked smile with perhaps a few too many teeth in it before jumping to the ground. Despite the distance of at least twenty feet, she lands lightly on her feet and stands in one fluid motion. Her dress falls perfectly, even as her hair stays somewhat upright. Dark as a moonless night, her long hair always has the tendency to look like it’s floating underwater. 

Gainé pulls Merlin into a tight hug, and close together, it’s easy to tell they’re related. They share dark hair, sharp faces, and the same pale skin by virtue of being related. They also share too many sharp teeth, golden flecks in their eyes, and points to their ears by virtue of being Fae. If you look at either of them out of the corner of your eye, you tend to see something quite different from their apparent aesthetically appealing forms. Things with scales and tails and fins and hair that does things hair is not supposed to do. But right now, they’re just two somewhat humans hugging, cousins coming back together after a while apart.

”Where have you been?”Gainé demands of her cousin, looking at Merlin in the mischievous way that means she’s got a whopper of a scheme prepared. With that look, it might even be something that could be properly called an adventure. Merlin is barely able to contain his excitement. 

“I’ve been working with Mum, but that’s not important right now. You’ve summoned me, you’ve tortured me, it’s two days ‘till Beltane, what do you have planned now?”

“You won’t be disappointed, my little bird.” Gainé clasps her hands together, gesturing as she speaks. “This is something truly excellent, a unique opportunity to serve multiple goals at once, have a lot of fun, and not get in any trouble whatsoever.”

“Do tell,” Merlin drawls, playing into the dramatics because this is what they do.

“Well,” Gainé begins, trailing her fingers down Merlin’s arms, “First, there will be much food alongside that wonderful thing known as alcohol. Two,” she starts counting on her own fingers, “This is something that directly defies my mother’s wishes, and three, and most importantly, we get to dress fabulously.”

“I like the sound of this.”

“We’re going to crash a party,” Gainé announces, and Merlin immediately deflates.

“That’s it?” He asks incredulously, crossing his arms.

“What do you mean that’s it?” Gainé crosses her arms right back.

“We can’t crash a Beltane party, it’s too easy! There’s going to be at least three dozen of those in spitting distance, and the future Lady of the Lake is welcome at all of them. They’d be thrilled to have you. Where is the fun in that?”

Gainé just smiles, shaking her head in disappointment at Merlin’s stupidity. “Dear cousin, you are thinking too small,” she admonishes, slowly walking around him in a circle.  _ Tsk, tsk,  _ she mourns. “You see, we will not be going to a  _ Fae _ Beltane party….”

Merlin lights up as he realizes what she’s implying. “No…”

“Yes! We are going to Camelot’s Beltane Masquerade, the three-night festival where all ambassadors of the Fae territories are welcome, but small sprites such as ourselves certainly are not.”

“We’re crashing a human party-” Merlin whispers to himself.

“We’re crashing a human party!” They shout together, breaking into a little dance as Gainé grabs Merlin’s hands and twirls the two around a bit. 

“And you underestimated me,” she scolds.

“I’ll never do so again Milady,” Merlin says with a sarcastic bow. “So, your mother forbade you from attending?”

“Yes. She says humans can only handle so many Fae visitors at a time, but really, I should be going to these things. It will eventually be my sole duty, and I want to be prepared. I should get to meet our allies, prepare for the future, and see you scare the daylights out of some poor humans.”

“You just want to get drunk at a Beltane party and have some naughty fun with a pretty girl.”

“Why else is anything worth doing?” Gainé questions with her hands on her hips. “Besides, potential naughty fun is only part of my motivation. Learning diplomacy is important for a future leader-”

“If I said that you’d say I was full of shit.”

“Because you would be full of shit”

“Okay, not the point here. You still haven’t told me exactly how we’re going to crash this party without getting into serious privilege-stripping, accused of warmongering through trespassing, and consorting with the enemy type treasonous trouble.”

“Masks and costumes of course, it’s a masquerade party. I told you we’d be dressing fabulously.” Gainé waves the petty details aside with her hand.

“What about our parents finding out?”

“They’ll be with the human monarchs, not in the thick of the party.”

“What about getting across the heavily patrolled border without being shot down because humans are  _ like that _ ?”

“I’ve bribed the patrols on our side, and they’ll pass the message along that back-and-forth during Beltane is to be ignored.”

“And if an emergency actually occurs and someone of ill intent crosses the border and does something awful?”

“Then we take the fall for it, but I think the very low risk is worth it. No human sneaks into Fae at Beltane, and any Fae going to Albion are doing the same thing we are, trying to crash parties and not get caught.”

“You still have neglected to mention exactly how we’re going to get to this party. We can’t ask one of the dragons without getting told on, it’ll take too long to get there by horse, and your teleportation spells leave something to be desired-”

“They’re not that bad-”

“We landed in a bog and there were fish in my breeches.”

“You can’t do better.”

“I know I can’t, which is why I’m not suggesting it. So, how are we getting to the party?”

“I was going to leave that to you….”

“So I have to do all the work now?”

“Excuse you, I’ve done everything else, even gotten us our costumes.” She waves her hand and two sacks come flying out of the tree, landing between them. “And really, I could figure transportation out myself, I’m only asking you because I have an interest in not messing up my outfit, and getting places with your ensemble intact is something you’re mysteriously good at. A talent wasted on you, considering how you normally dress.”

“I take offense at that.”

“Good, it was meant to be offensive.”

“Oh shut it. Let me see the costume,” Merlin sticks out his hand, and Gainé just grins because she knows she’s officially got her partner on board.

“Yours is obviously not as fabulous as mine, but I think it’ll suit you rather well….” She says as he opens his bag of clothes.

“Seriously?” Merlin demands, inspecting his mask; a beaked and feathered mask creation made to resemble a very particular type of bird. “A  _ merlin _ ?”

“You know you love it!” Gainé calls from where she’s retreated to the other side of the tree to change. “Now put it on, I want to be at the masquerade and dancing with pretty girls before sundown!” 

Merlin murmurs under his breath as he fumbles into the costume tunic and breeches, carefully arranging the feathers on his mask because ‘ _ yes, he likes it you silly sorceress that doesn’t mean you can just boss people around all the time and oh, is that a secret pocket in the tunic, that’s rather nice, oooh and the cape is fluttery too, that’s fantastic, it’s just like wings….WINGS! _

“Gainé! I know how we’re going to get to the party!” Merlin shouts as he pulls his boots back on. 

“Excellent! Help me lace this corset and tell me your contribution to this already brilliant plan,” Gainé commands as she emerges from behind the tree in a much-embellished version of the ceremonial robes Avalon’s priestesses wore to formal events. It’s red and purple and gold, showing off Gainé’s pale shoulders. A pale gold mask covers the top half of her face, matching a simple circlet that mocks the silver one Vivianne wears for ceremonies. The triple moon sigil of the Goddess that normally sits just above her nose is hidden by a glamour, and she wears no shoes but plenty of golden jewelry. 

She turns, holding out the laces for the barely-there corset so Merlin can tie them. “Now, how shall we be getting to Albion this night?” Gainé says once her dress is secured, taking a moment to adjust Merlin’s feathered cape so that it lays just so.

“We’ll be flying.”

“I thought no dragons would take us?”

“No,  _ we’ll  _ be flying,” Merlin emphasizes with a devilish smile and eyes golden with magic. Before another breath passes, the Fae cousins are gone. In their place are two falcons. The merlin looks as pleased with itself as a bird can be, while the peregrin squawks in a way that suggests it wished it had been warned before this feathery transformation occurred. The peregrin proceeds to cuff the merlin upside the head with its wing, eliciting some outraged shrieking. After a short scuffle and a bit of flying practice, the two birds set out for the human countries, having no idea what sort of trouble awaits them there. 

  
  


An hour away as the falcon flies, another pair of best friends are arguing. They aren’t just arguing though. They are having a ginormous, massive, utter whopper of an argument that has inspired all sensible inhabitants of Camelot Castle to put at least three very long corridors between them and the shouting match occuring in the prince’s chambers. 

“I’m not going Gwen!” screams the prince who’s chambers these happen to be.

“It’s Beltane, you have to go!” replies the unfortunate woman who happens to be his best friend, who is sick of having this conversation every year like clockwork.

“It’s ridiculous, with all the costumes and fires and -I mean, I pray to the Goddess and all that, I leave the offerings, I’ve done the Hunt, why do I have to go to the party? Do the Goddess and God demand we make fools of ourselves while dancing?”

“Are you saying you don’t like dancing with me?” Gwen crosses her arms, a few curls escaping her bun.

“Where’d you get that idea from?”

“I’m the only one you ever dance with at these things, Gwyn.”

“Because everyone else makes eyes at me-”

“Humble, are we?” Gwen crosses her arms, looking highly unamused as she stares down her friend, who in the course of their argument has ended up standing on his bed. “I’ll have you know that making eyes at other people is kind of the point of Beltane. You’d know this if you ever did anything other than hide. Well, I know you’re not hiding, but you’re certainly avoiding all the fun.”

“How is it fun? Watching drunkards dance and having my parents expect me to find someone to marry in this whole mess is not my idea of fun.”

“Oh, the poor prince, forced to go to a party and meet practically every eligible youth in all of Albion and pick someone-”

“Sarcasm does not become you,” Gwyn huffs as he sinks down onto the mattress. 

“Pouting does not become  _ you _ .” Gwen turns away to look out the window. 

Gwyn sighs mightily. “I don’t know what to do, Gwen. I can’t just ask someone to dance, they’ll feel like they can’t refuse a prince. Besides, if I show the slightest interest in anyone, my mother will assume that means I want to marry them. I don’t even  _ like _ dancing. Why can’t we just have another Hunt? That was good fun.”

“You are the strangest man I have ever met. You prefer a bloody Hunt to a few hours of dancing and drink by the fires.”

“I know what to expect from a Hunt! Chase, catch, subdue, repeat! No worrying about whether the prey wants to get into your britches!”

“Gwyn,” Gwen grabs her unfortunately-taller-than-her friend by the shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You are going to this party whether you like it or not. No-” she cuts off whatever protest he was about to begin. “You are going to this party because your mother commanded you to, and if you don’t go, it will somehow be my fault for failing to control the stubbornest mule in human form in all of Camelot, and I refuse to have your mother give me that look of disappointment-”

“Since when is she ever disappointed in you?”

“Since we were sixteen and told her we would never be madly in love or married. She’s still rather bitter about that.”

“No she’s not, she still likes you far too much and wants you to succeed your father as Mastersmith. It’s me she’s disappointed in for not finding someone half as clever.”

“Wait, Mastersmith?” Gwen looks very excited, then shakes her head. “No, we’ll discuss that later. Right now, you’re going to get ready for the party, because if you don’t go I’ll have to sit here with you all night because I’m not a horrid friend and I’ll detest you for it, because I’ve spent weeks on my costume and I want to go dancing, so you’re coming along because it is not a hardship to hide in the corner in the sad little costume I know you stole from Tristan’s old things instead of making it yourself-” Gwen had a tendency to ramble when annoyed. Despite having heard similar lectures many times in the past, Gwyn still looks appropriately cowed by his small and intimidating best friend. 

“I’ll go to the party,” he mumbles, mostly because he is afraid of what will become of him if left alone all night with a Gwen who has not gotten to go to Beltane. 

“Moreover, this is a three night party, I’m sure if you make a decent appearance at least one night your mother might be more lenient if you don’t attend the other days-what did you say?” Gwen looks appropriately shocked at Gwyn’s sudden agreement. 

“I said I’ll go to the party!”

“Good, now get dressed, I’ll be back in a bit.” Gwen sweeps out of the room like she isn’t a human earthquake who constantly disrupts Gwyn’s attempts at a peaceable life. He turns to his closet, considering his options- “And you cannot put on the chainmail!” Gwen calls from the hallway.

“WHY NOT?”

“It’s a ball, not a tournament, and you have a perfectly lovely costume already!”

“But-”

“Costume!”

“But-”

“Please?” Gwen says in the tone of voice that can get the Crown Prince of Camelot to do anything she wants.

“ _ Fine _ .” Gwyn hates that voice.

“Excellent! I’ll be back in a few minutes, and I mean it about the chainmail!”

“I better get sweetmeats out of this!” Gwyn sticks his head out the door, but Gwen must have finally walked out of earshot. She is going to be far too self-satisfied with herself when she comes back, probably going to say something about how Gwyn is  _ ‘finally doing something fun for once in his life’ _ . Well  _ Gwen _ , Gwyn mutters as he pulls on his costume,  _ princes shouldn’t be pushed around by blacksmiths, even if they are best friends, the head knight of Camelot deserves some respect, and Beltane is stupid anyway, yes of course the renewal of life through love is a valuable thing to celebrate but there was no one he really wanted to be with like  _ that _ thank you very much Gwen, no his love life was not embarrassing, everything is pale in comparison to courting Leon and Elena and that attractive fellow Lancelot all in the last few years, perhaps it’s Gwen who should limit her romantic pursuits instead of Gwyn following her example and dancing with everyone who so much as flashes a smile, he’d had to dance with Gwaine last year for Goddess’ sake,  _ Gwaine.

Gwyn goes on like this for quite a while. Parties, or really anything that did not have a strict set of rules or involve swords, were not his strong suit. Things would be even worse tonight; ambassadors from practically every sovereignty, including several  _ Fae _ territories, would be attending the three days of celebrations and would be lighting the fire on Beltane night.

Gwyn’s mother had already strongly hinted that she wanted him engaged by the end of the festival, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted him bound to some blue-skinned and cat-tailed Fae creature. There was absolutely no way this was going to end well.

“Are you ready?” Gwen re-enters his chambers, dressed as an angel of all things. In spite of the faint ridiculousness of an angel at Beltane, she looks horribly dashing and beautiful in a golden dress with painted wings attached to her back and a sword belted at her side. Obviously everyone at the party is going to fall in immediate love with her and she will have a marvelous time while Gwyn sits through another Beltane alone. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Gwyn.” 

“Then you know-”

“Let me see,” she motions for him to show off the ridiculous costume he had in fact stolen from Tristain’s old things. Gwyn raises his arms as Gwen inspects his furred cape and hat, straightens the brown tunic stitched with crimson thread, and places the final piece of the ensemble onto his face. To complete his indignity, he wears a bear mask with a fuzzy snout. “There’s my dashing prince!” Gwen says with a ruffle of Gwyn’s hair. Her eyes are soft. “Look, I know this isn’t your favorite thing,”

“It is my least favorite thing-”

“Hush,” Gwen uses a hand to hold Gwyn’s lips together, as physical force is the only reliable way to shut him up. “Perhaps it’ll be different this year. You might find someone to dance with who will step on  _ your _ toes for once, and I might find someone who properly appreciates, well….” Gwen trails off. For someone who is so kind, she has had rotten luck in the love department. Everyone she’d ever been in a serious courtship with had left her.

“My offer to thoroughly thrash Lancelot still stands,” Gwyn says softly as he pulls her into a hug. 

“Thank you, but no. Just because he puts his precious knighthood and quests over all else doesn’t mean he deserves a swift kick in the nether regions with some armored shoes or a sharp-tipped lance.”

“See, now why can’t I make threats like that?”

“Because princes are supposed to be charming and polite and not want to kill select members of their citizenry.  _ I _ , on the other hand, well, no one expects a blacksmith to be polite. My manners are a bonus.”

“There’s a plot against me, I swear it.”

“Yes Gwyn, there’s a plot to make the Prince of Camelot be polite and hopefully find a consort before we all go gray.”

“Gwen?”

“Hmmm?”

“Have I mentioned you’re horrid?”

“You’re worse and you know it, now come on,” she wiggles out of Gwyn’s arms as she grabs his hand. “ We have a party to attend.”

“Must we?”

“Onwards!” Gwen pushes Gwyn out of the room amid protest, smiling the entire time.

This push and pull had been the natural state of their friendship for ages; they looked out for each other in whatever ways they could. The two had met fifteen years ago, when Queen Ygraine and Mastersmith Thomas of Camelot had seen fit to introduce their children to each other. This was mostly because both of the six year olds were rather awkward around others and their parents believed they sorely needed friends. Gwyn didn’t know how to talk to others without bossing them around, and Gwen was incredibly shy, preferring to hide behind her father’s legs whenever they went anywhere. Luckily, after being left alone together for an hour or so, they discovered that they both loved playing knights and goblins, thus beginning the first of many afternoons spent hitting each other with wooden play swords.

Growing up, neither had been very troublesome children, just very strong-willed and unwilling to compromise for anyone except each other. Decent portions of their friendship were built on the fact that no one else would put up with them for extended periods of time; Gwyn could be rather prattish sometimes, and Gwen had the tendency to ramble and meddle and assume she knew what was best for you. (She was usually right, but that didn’t mean she should assume). They became inseparable until the point when one of them-usually Gwyn-would refuse to do something if the other wasn’t involved. This resulted in Gwen attending knight’s training in the mornings and Gwyn helping at the forge every afternoon. 

At twenty-one, this routine had yet to change significantly despite the fact that practically everyone they knew was encouraging them to get married and settle into proper jobs already. Seeing as neither of them had any real marriage prospects and the furthering of their respective careers would require the death of one or both of their parents, they were quite content to stay just as they were. 

So they were best friends and practically siblings by want and necessity, fiercely loyal to each other and constantly attributing to the other all their luck and problems. They rarely had fights of any significance, yet the Beltane festivities were a yearly point of contention for them just because they were both so stubborn. They were both horrid romantics though and unable to resist the novelty and magic surrounding Beltane, so Gwen always won this particular battle, even if it did take several days to get Gwyn to the point where he finally gave in. 

As the pair descended through the castle, Gwyn slowly became more respectable looking, straightening up as if he hadn’t been throwing something resembling a tantrum not half an hour before. Gwen rolls her eyes, knowing that he will still try to get out of dancing however possible. Infuriatingly, he manages this by being utterly charming and proper. The moment he spots his mother speaking with some ambassadors, he swerves and sweeps the pair of them into the path of the castle stewards, volunteering their services to escort the many visitors to Camelot through the castle to the forest clearings where the actual celebrations will be taking place. 

“You clever prat,” Gwen whispers as she offers her arm to the first lady who asks for her assistance. Gwyn merely smiles, raising his eyebrows and pulling the face that means he knows exactly how awful he’s being. Gwen bristles internally. The  _ moment  _ they can get away from escort duty, she’s giving him a piece of her mind...actually, the moment she gets away from escort duty she’s going dancing. Gwyn could wait until tomorrow. There’s little reasoning to be done when he’s like this.

An hour in, Gwen is getting restless. Her feet are itching with the need to join the party she’s escorting people to, and these slippers were meant to be shed for dancing, not worn for long periods of time. Gwyn is trying to keep her amused, pulling faces and spinning outrageous tales about the Fae ambassadors that should be arriving soon. To hear him, they’re ten feet tall and blue-skinned with silver teeth, dragon scales, and cat’s tails. He’s ridiculous, but Gwen laughs anyway as she plots her escape. 

Opportunity finally strikes when she spots the Lady Knight Elena making her way through the queue. The whole castle knows that Gwen and Elena had a very passionate fling and subsequent very messy breakup last Midwinter, a fact that Gwen can finally use to her advantage. She puts herself in the path of Malcolm, another escort and friend of hers, flashing wide panicked eyes and pointing to Elena. He very gallantly takes pity on her, putting the elderly Lord in her care onto his arm and pushing Gwen into a side hallway. Moments later, she slips into a group of partygoers and finally,  _ finally _ begins the walk to the party. Any guilt she feels about leaving Gwyn behind is erased by the fact that he almost definitely prefers escort duty to dancing. 

The trip through the woods is short, and the revelers are already in high spirits aided by the help of some spirits-both alcoholic and magical. Small glowing sprites abound in the night sky, dancing in between the lanterns that mark the path to the gathering place. Gwen loses her decorative shoes somewhere along the way, dancing as she walks. Just before she enters the true party, she makes sure that her mask is fastened tightly. It’s small and golden, mimicking a warrior’s helm but leaving the bottom half of her face uncovered. She doesn't want it to fall off, but knows that once you’re swept up in a dance, it can be many hours before you realize you’ve lost something. Best to prepare now. The sounds of the festival grow ever louder, and Gwen is running by the time she breaks out of the dark trees, costume wings streaming behind her as she lets out a shout of joy. 

The clearing is enormous, at least seven bonfires the size of small houses sending their flames into the darkened summer sky. Smaller cookfires are surrounded with tables of sweetmeats, fruits, and all sorts of things to drink. Music is coming from absolutely everywhere as bards and harpers dance in between the flames and shadows and revelers, playing tunes that stir Gwen’s blood and practically beg to be danced to. 

And the  _ guests _ , oh Gwen could die from sheer joy right now at how many of them are dressed in the most splendid costumes and adding to the magical feel of the evening. Every animal she’s ever heard of and many she hasn’t are well represented, along with aspects of the Goddess and God, famous Queens and Kings of the past, religious figures from many faiths, and a fair number clad only in flowers and little else. Gwen doesn’t know if it’s the atmosphere of the night, the fine clothing, or an actual magic spell, but everyone looks so beautiful, and she decides that she needs to find a dance partner immediately. No one serious of course, this is only the first of three nights of celebration and Beltane proper isn’t until the third night, but you can’t let a party like this go to waste by dancing alone. 

With a sway of her hips that she only feels brave enough to do because of the mask covering her face, she joins a small group of dancers. She’s welcomed with cheers and whistles before quickly finding herself in the middle of some fast paced jumping waltz with a succession of women in fox costumes. She grabs the hand of one, then another, swinging between them with cries of laughter. One with dark hair and a strong nose catches her around the waist, lifting her off the ground in time with the music. The fire light glints off her red lip paint, and Gwen is just considering kissing her, because it is Beltane after all, when she is suddenly placed on the ground and spun into the arms of a new partner. 

His feathered mask is slightly askew, but his eyes are bright, so Gwen decides to see what he can do in a dance. She lets down her hair and moves into a mock curtsey, looking up at her new partner questioningly. He smiles in a way that makes it seem like he has too many teeth, then bows to Gwen and kisses her hand. Birdman, as Gwen decides to call him, moves to lead them into a line dance with the rest of the group around them, but Gwen spins out of his grasp, taunting him to follow. 

Birdman pursues, and the chase turns into a light footed dance as they spin around each other, barely touching. He lunges for her, and Gwen shrieks with laughter as she ducks to the side and he falls to the ground. He pops right back up, kneeling and offering a flower that seems to have come from nowhere. Gwen accepts it graciously, tucking it in her hair. She removes a feather from her costume wings, putting it behind Birdman’s ear.

“Thank you milady,” he says, speaking for the first time as he rises to his feet. 

“You’re welcome, my good sir. You’re quite the dancer,” Gwen takes his hands, leading them into a slower kind of sway. He’s just a bit taller than her, but much thinner

“As are you. Maybe the feathers help.” He motions to her wings and his feathered cape. 

“How so?”

“Well,” he spins Gwen with one hand, “birds fly, so maybe their feathers let our feet soar over the fires.”

“If you’re looking for someone to jump over fires with tonight, I have to tell you that I’m waiting for Beltane proper and the right partner.” Gwen says matter-of-factly. Dancing is one thing, but laying down by the fires with anyone who asks is not her cup of tea.

“How do you know I’m not the right partner?” He smiles kindly, and any fear she had that he might be someone you’d have to use a sword on vanishes.

“Well,” Gwen slips into a teasing tone, “You’re not quite the type of man I usually go for. You know, big, strong, muscular…”

“Ah! You see, I’m in disguise. Clever, right?” Birdman must have raised his eyebrows, because his mask shifts, becoming even more crooked on his face as Gwen laughs.

“A very convincing disguise then, to hide muscle beneath featherweight limbs.”

“See, it works! You underestimate me, I get under your guard, and we have a perfectly lovely time dancing. Don’t worry,” he assures her as they spin together. “I’m looking for the right partner too.”

“You’re certainly a charmer. I think I’d like to dance some more.” 

“As you wish, milady,” Birdman says in a grand voice, and Gwen decides right then and there that she likes him. 

They join a great dance circle, moving constantly through weaving arms and spinning couples. Gwen laughs every time Birdman trips over himself and swears enough to turn the air blue.

“Not the most graceful fellow, are you?”

“Says the woman who has stepped on my toes at least three times.”

“I was a clumsy child, I’ve barely grown out of it.”

“I’m still waiting to grow out of it. You, however, seem to have grown into yourself quite well though, dancing like that.”

“Like what?” Gwen asks innocently as she sways her hips. 

“Show me how to do that, if you will?”

“Certainly. Just move your shoulder here, then your hips go out there, and if you’ve got a good partner they’ll put their hands right-”

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!” Birdman is suddenly tackled by what appears to be a very angry bear, and only avoids serious bodily injury by rolling to the side and seeking refuge behind Gwen. 

“This a friend of yours?” He pants, wide eyed and rattled. 

“My brother,” she snaps. “Gwyn! What are you doing!”

Gwyn is unrepentant, “He was chasing you, I saw it! You were screaming, and then he put his hands-”

“It’s called dancing, Gwyn, you should try it sometime.”

Birdman chooses then to interrupt, raising his hands in a peace gesture. “Yes, let’s just calm down here, my friend-”

“Don’t call me your friend!”

“Gwyn, stop it!”

“No, no, he’s right,” Birdman shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at Gwyn. “I would never have a friend who could be such an ass.”   
“What did you call me?” 

Gwen steps in the middle of the two idiots, pushing them apart. “He called you an ass, and you’re being one right now! First you follow me, then you interrupt my dancing, and then you feel the need to protect my honor when you know very well I can do it myself, this sword isn’t decorative you know. I’m tired of your grumpiness ruining my Beltane, so please just leave me alone for tonight and let us get back to dancing.”

“Exactly! See, she must have gotten all the brains in the family, I don’t know where your’s have gone off to. I’d check the donkey pen if I were you, see if your cousins are keeping it safe.” Gwen groans out loud. Apparently Birdman has a death wish. She’s going to have to find a new dance partner.

Gwyn responds to the insult as well as can be expected of a petty,  _ petty _ little man. “That’s it!” he roars, once more launching himself at Birdman, who once more dodges. Thus begins a chase around the fires that would almost be a dance if it weren’t for the fact that Birdman is swearing and Gwyn is attempting to throw goblets at him. Gwen quickly loses track of them as they disappear into the party, and her only hope is that Gwyn doesn’t do anything that can’t be forgotten by morning. 

The bright side, she supposes, is that at least Gwyn is no longer attempting to defend her honor, he’s just annoyed that someone called him a stupid ass. “ _ Men _ ,” she spits out in frustration as she takes a seat on a log by one of the fires. She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, but she got an answer anyway.

“I know,” a feminine voice responds, making Gwen jump. “You’d think they all want to get killed,” says a tall, pale woman in mock-sorceress robes. She must have been watching the whole silly mess.

“Or do the killing,” Gwen adds as the woman takes a seat beside her. “My brother-”

“Oh, so that’s your brother that wants to kill mine?” Gwen takes a good look at the witch-garbed woman, noticing how similar she looks to the man she’d just been dancing with. She’s got something else about her though; perhaps it’s the way she makes sitting on a log look as regal as if she was on a throne, or the fact that her dark hair blends into the night around them. It’s hard to stay focused when looking at her.

“Sorry- sorry about that. Gwyn seems to feel the need to protect me from the mysteries of Beltane, even though I can certainly do it myself. Look at this,” she pulls her sword out of it’s scabbard. Joyeuse is one of her own works, silver and gold colored steel combining into a deadly sharp blade half as tall as her. The inscription-for all great swords have either a name or inscription, and so this one has both-reads ‘ _ With Faith, Courage, and Love _ ’. “This blade is certainly not for show. Made it myself, and I know how to use it.” She declares as she sheathes it again.

“Without overstepping my boundaries, I’d recommend you threaten your brother with that. You don’t need to apologize for him being a boor. Men are all varying degrees of stupidity, I’ve never seen the need to apologize for something my idiot has done. Though I do swear he has a deathwish sometimes. Unfortunate job of an older sister, it’s my job to keep certain idiots alive even when they seem determined to do the opposite.” 

Oh, Gwen  _ likes _ this woman. She’s obviously intelligent and doesn’t accept excuses. Gwen sorely wants to see where more conversation will lead. But, “Do you think we should go break them up?” There’s always brothers ruining things. 

Witch-woman rolls her eyes with a faint smile. “No, my brother, well, cousin actually, either way he can take care of himself just fine. I’d rather not get involved.”

“He’s your cousin? I would have said you were siblings.”

“I would say the opposite about you. How are the Bear over there and such a lovely lady as yourself related?” Oh, she’s flirting now. Gwen  _ really _ likes this woman. 

“We’re not related,” She says quickly. “ He’s my best friend, I’ve just been calling him my brother since I was small.”

“That explains it,” the Witch-woman looks Gwen over thoughtfully. “I was about to say, you obviously got all the looks in the family.” 

_ Gwen really really likes this woman _ . She doesn’t know quite how to respond to this, but then decides  _ f*ck it _ , this is still a Beltane party and the night isn’t even close to being over. With a sudden rush of determination, she says “If you’d be so kind as to share a dance with me, I’ll show you I’ve got more than just looks.” Gwen rises to her feet and holds out her hand.

Witch-woman takes it, a dazzling smile taking up her entire face. “A woman of many talents, then,” she practically  _ purrs _ as she stands. Gwen stares unashamedly. Who knew the death of her would look like  _ this _ ?

“Not so many talents.” Gwen says humbly as she leads them closer to one of the fires.

“You underestimate yourself,” Witch-woman announces, “You’ve just told me you made that masterpiece at your waist, and your costume matches it too well for them to not be made by the same hand.”

“I’m just a craftswoman, a blacksmith.” Gwen is really just going to stop breathing right here, right now.

“ You can also dance,” the Witch-woman says with an amused smile.

“How would you know?” 

“You’ve just led us through half a waltz,” as the Witch-woman says it, Gwen realizes that they’ve been dancing through their conversation. Her mind may have been going blank at all the attention, but at least her body had been keeping a good head on it’s shoulders, so to speak.

“So I have,” Gwen tries to keep her own surprise quiet, choosing instead to smile in a way that she hopes is dashing. 

It must work, because Witch-woman laughs, full and excited and happy. “Lead on, O swordsmith,” she says dramatically, “I want to see where such a fortuitous partnership will lead.”

“What do you mean?” Gwen asks curiously.

Witch-woman smiles coyly, as if she’s got a fabulous secret she can’t help but share. “Some people call me Gainê,” she whispers as she twirls Gwen.

“Scabbard or to sheathe,” Gwen says in a tone of wonder. 

“Exactly. Who knows, perhaps we’ll work well together.”

“I think we may. A sword is very little without a scabbard.”

“And a scabbard is very little without a sword.”

“Let’s put it to the test,” Gwen says with a devilish smile she’s never had an excuse to use before as she launches herself and Gainê into the first of many long, complicated, and wonderfully fun dances. 

When they can catch their breath, conversations go like this:

(“An angel?”

“A warrioress. A witch?”

“I can only be what I am.”

“What makes you a witch?”

“I enchant pretty women.”

“Would that make me a witch too then?”

“Most definitely.”) Then they’d be off again.

(“You know, what you were saying before about scabbards-”

“Hmmmm?”

“It sounds like a dirty joke.”

“Ha!”)

At one point, they are separated by the dance. Normally, Gwen would take this as a cue to find a new dance partner. Instead, she finds herself searching for Gainê, unable to keep her mind off the proud laughing woman whose eyes shine like the stars above.

Gwen finds her twirling like a dervish in the middle of a dance circle, dragging other dancers in beside her at every other drumbeat. She’s asking all of them “Have you seen an angel? I’m looking for an angel, a gorgeous woman all in gold.” Amused and flattered, Gwen takes a place in the dance circle and as Gainê turns around, she sneaks up behind her and grabs her hands so they can twirl together. A raucous cheer goes up from their audience, who have now seen the angel and the witch reunited.

“You wouldn’t have found me if that was how you were looking,” Gwen teases. “Most here are too drunk to remember a thing you’ve told them, much less tell you if they’ve seen me.”

“Ah, but that wasn’t my goal. Yes, most of them are falling down drunk, which I wasn’t expecting this early on the first night-” 

“Camelot doesn’t have many parties, we tend to let loose very early at the slightest excuse.” 

“Good to know. As I was saying,” Gainê suddenly twirls and dips Gwen before hauling her up to eye level again, “yes, most of them are too drunk to remember if they’ve seen you or not, but they are just sober enough to hear the angel woman part, and what do you think they’ll be moaning about to their equally inebriated friends? If you had tormented me by being away for another half hour, I would have had this whole party buzzing with the rumor that an angel has come down to earth and a witch is looking for her. It was meant to be a grand gesture to show my interest.”

Gwen laughs, pulling Gainê close before spinning apart again. “You couldn't look for me yourself?” 

“I could, but that’s not nearly as fun, and I wanted to show you that I think you’re quite special enough to be the talk of an entire Beltane festival.”

“I’m quite flattered by these bold declarations, milady.” More than that, she’s about one sweet word away from melting to the forest floor in a blushing heap. Thank the Goddess for masks and boldness conferred by staring into the eyes of a beautiful woman. “You know, I may just have to kiss you for that.”

Gainê appears to freeze for a moment before nodding enthusiastically. “My lips are yours for the taking milady.”

“You’re very dramatic aren’t you?”

“Yes, but if you stick around long enough, it’ll become one of the things you love about me.”

“I look forward to that,” Gwen whispers before pulling Gainê in so that their hands are pressed between them while their lips touch gently. Another great cheer goes up; Gwen had forgotten they were in the middle of a dance circle. One kiss turns into seven, and when at length they part Gainê is beaming and Gwen is blushing slightly. Alright, blushing a lot. The woman was a damn fine kisser. “Would you like to keep dancing?” She asks breathlessly.

“I will dance with you all night if you let me, but I do have one condition.” 

Gwen is prepared to give quite a lot to not have to let Gainê out of her sight ever again. Still, she plays coy, emboldened by the night and Gainê’s dazzling smile. “I’ll have you know that those who ask too much are usually left wanting.”

“As are those who ask too little. I’d rather try my luck than wonder what might have been.” Oh, Gwen is quite possibly falling in love with this woman. 

“Very well, what is your request?”

“May I see you without your mask?”

Gwen stops moving. This is….unexpected. Most Beltane revelers preferred to remain anonymous to their partners, mostly to avoid awkward situations after the fact or ever realizing who you’d gone to the fires with. Gainê was wonderful, but….

“I’ll take off my mask as well,” Gainê says hurriedly. “It’s just-”

“You want to see if I’m horribly disfigured or the like, right?”

“No. I want another reason to be amazed by you, Milady Warrioress Angel.”

“Oh.” Gwen may just collapse right now. No, she wants to kiss this woman and die doing that.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, I’ve never been anything but terribly forward, and I don’t see any reasons to change now that I’ve found someone who seems to appreciate boldness.”

“It’s, that’s , it’s quite alright, it’s just...I’m not really very bold. I’m not very brave when I don’t have a mask on, when it’s not Beltane. To tell you the truth, I would never have had the courage to dance with you tonight if it weren’t for this,” she taps her mask, the golden helm that hides a coward. “You may not like me very much without all this finery and festivity and flirting.”

“But I could like you even more, as I think I will.”

“Take off your mask first then.”

Gainê smiles softly. “Gladly,” she says as she undoes the laces of her mask. The golden half-mask covered in sigils falls away, replaced by a face more disposed to smirking than smiling, with a sharp nose and fine features. Somehow her eyes shine even more brightly. 

“Wow.” What a fine night this is turning out to be. 

“You can keep yours on, we can keep dancing if you want, or not, or whatever you want-” Gainê sounds uncertain for the first time, exposed and somehow still achingly beautiful. 

“No.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed, I’m so so sorry-”

“No, I meant-” Gwen pulls Gainê in for another kiss, holding the sides of her unmasked face. “I’ll be brave with you. We’ll just have to get rather drunk later so I can forget what foolishness I’ve gotten up to when everyone can see it’s me.”

Gainê laughs, but kindly. “Of course, of course.”

“Alright then,” Gwen unties her mask, refastening it to her belt before daring to meet Gainê’s eyes. For a very long moment, Gainê says nothing. She just stares. Gwen panics slightly.

“I’ll have you know I only did this because I like you quite a lot, and if you back out now I’ll let you go, but I’ll be disappointed that you aren’t the woman I took off this mask for-”

“Gwen,”

“Yes?”

“That was a very long sentence, and I want to say you have nothing to worry about, but at this moment half of me is trying to come up with something witty to say about a blacksmith who looks like she was crafted by Brigit herself, and the other half of me is quite struck dumb.”

“For being struck dumb, you are certainly able to say a lot.”

“Only half of me is struck dumb, do keep up darling.”

“You keep up,” Gwen says playfully as she bumps their hips together before rushing off to join another dance circle. Gainê follows right after, and the expression on her face looks something like love.

Many songs, many dances, and many kisses later, it is getting near dawn. Gwen is bone-weary. She is also deliriously happy. This is partly due to exhaustion mixed with having a bit too much to drink, but it’s mostly because she has spent the whole night in the company of someone who may be the most wonderful woman in the world. 

They’d danced and walked, talked and sang, and Gwen had yet to find a reason not to utterly adore Gainê. She’s clever and kind and funny, dances better than half the courtiers in Camelot, and even better: she inexplicably thinks Gwen is utterly marvelous. Gwen isn’t going to bother to correct her, because it’s never been this easy before. Everyone else she’d ever courted had reduced her to a blushing mess who couldn’t even get her intentions out until months into her efforts. Then they’d asked too much or too little, not bothering to discover who Gwen actually was instead of who they’d believed her to be.

But Gainê? She lets Gwen lead and listens to what she has to say. She doesn’t feel the need to pretend around Gwen, and Gwen feels the same. It’s as if they’ve known each other their whole lives with the ease of their conversation, the grace of their dancing. Gwen is half-waiting for a catch, for something to spoil this, but there’s also a quietly settling certainty that Gainê is never going to disappoint her. It’s a fantastic feeling. 

Gwen has never felt this calm around someone she cares for. Even stranger, it’s  _ Beltane _ , yet there’s no desire to somehow make this significant, to make this special. It already is. For the past hour or so, they haven’t even been dancing, merely sitting slumped against a tree trunk and passing bottles of something bubbly back and forth while trading kisses. They must look like madwomen, draped over each other with untied hair and bare feet and sweat everywhere, but everyone else looks the same and Gwen can’t bring herself to care about what others think of her tonight. Especially as Gainê pulls her down again for some slow, sloppy kissing.

Gainê is warm and smells like bonfires and bubbly. Gwen could quite happily stay here forever, or at least until theyŕe sobered up a bit. Gainê stretches her arms around Gwen’s waist and begins to rub her back, so Gwen presses their foreheads together and rewards Gainê with butterfly kisses because this feels so good, this is the best Beltane ever-Gainê groans, loud and frustrated.

“What?” Gwen asks sleepily and drunkenly, distantly appalled by how wrecked her voice is. 

“I have to gooooooooo,” Gainê moans, burying her face in Gwen’s neck. “Don’t wanna, you’re warm and kissy and  _ golden _ -” Gwen giggles at that, because it seems funny and might even be a compliment. 

“Don’t go then,” she mumbles, kissing Gainê’s nose and then her lips. “Stay, we’ll get-” she yawns. “We’ll get the party going again-” Gwen yawns a second time as if to demonstrate just how far-fetched her plan is. “Come on, we’ll go finding that poetess with the lyre, with the dirty jokes, you liked her,” Gwen cajoles. Really, anything to prevent Gainê from leaving.

“Can’t! Can’t, can’t, can’t!” Gainê declares, and she’s either drunker than Gwen or just not very good with alcohol. Possibly both. “Gotta go home, gotta find stupid brother. Mum don’t know, gotta keep it hushhhhhhh.” Gainê places a finger to her lips like you would as a small child. 

“You’re gonna get in troubles,” Gwen slurs a bit.

“Worth it for you, pretty lady, but gotta go now.” Gainê tries to get up, then finds she can’t with Gwen on top of her. “Geroff, please.”

“Pay me!” Gwen demands. Gainê kisses her then, rolling them over so Gwen’s back is on the ground and Gainê is above her, her long black hair making a curtain around their faces. “Come back tonight?” Gwen whispers, not sure if she can stand the thought of this being the only time she’ll ever kiss this woman. 

“Abso-so-so-lute-e-ly!”

“Having a little troubles with words?”

“Bit,” Gainê concedes.

“Don’t forget me.”

“Can’t.” Gainê kisses her slowly and carefully, holding Gwen’s face in her hands. Gwen closes her eyes, sure that she could either fall asleep or stay awake forever while kissing Gainê. One or the other. She whimpers when Gainê pulls away

“I’ll be back tonight.”

“If you take too long, I’ll be dancing with someone else,” Gwen says with a sleepy, teasing smile. 

“No you won’t, and I won’t either. Only wanna dance with you.”

“Good,” Gwen decides, then closes her eyes again because she is suddenly very tired. “Bye.”

“Goodbye,” Gainê whispers, and just like that she’s gone, out of Gwen’s sight. 

Gwen just stares at the pre-dawn sky for awhile, smiling to herself and giggling occasionally at the ridiculousness of it all. She was going to dance with someone at Beltane two nights in a row. And it wasn’t just anyone, it was  _ Gainê _ , who thought Gwen was gorgeous and who would probably make a fantastic witch...she dozes off to these wonderful thoughts. 

When she wakes again, it must be later because the sun is just starting to peek through the tree branches, but it also can’t be too much later because she still feels a little tipsy and the world spins a bit when she tries to sit up. Suddenly a large brown blob enters her field of vision and helps her to her feet. It takes her a moment to realize it’s Gwyn, looking like Gwen knows she must, all sloppy and love-soaked and tipsy. He must not be as tipsy though, because he’s managing to walk in a straight line and keep Gwen mostly upright. 

“I have got the bestest news,” Gwen tells him with a sly smile.

“So do I,” Gwyn retorts smugly, looking very stupid and pleased with himself. 

“Mine’s better, and prettier too-”

“No way-”

“Hushhhh.”

“Just tell me your news so I can say mine’s better. Then you can gloat, because you were right, but I don’t care.”

“I’m suddenly very interested in your news.”

“Alright then, if you insist.” Gwyn looks adorable like this, excited and bright-eyed and rather messy. 

“You look like me,” Gwen thinks out loud. “Like you fell in love last night.”

“Oh now you’ve spoilt it! But congratulations, I suppose-wait, you fell in love?”

“ _ Mnmm-hmmm _ , with the most wonderful woman in the world. She looks like new moon nights and talks like a queen and she knows about  _ scabbards _ , and wait, who’d you fall in love with?”

“The man I wanted to kill before,” Gwyn says far too proudly. “Turns out he’s kinda….amazing. And funny, and a good kisser.”

“I knew it!” Gwen crows. 

“Yes, go on and gloat-”

“I told you! I told you if you had a little fun at Beltane you’d find someone! I don’t believe it, the most stubbornest man in Albion actually listened to me and went and fell in love-”

“Yes, do shut it Gwen.”

“Never, this is my victory for the rest of our lives!”

“Of course it is-”

“We both fell in love tonight, and with  _ wonderful wonderful people! _ ” Gwen sings loudly and off-key, prompting Gwyn to put his hand over her mouth. 

“Stooooop.”

“Never! I’m in love with Gainê and you’re in love with Birdboy, who I found by the way, so you’re welcome for that,  _ ohhh _ and they’re siblings, well not really, they’re  _ cousins _ -”

“Wait, your wonderful lady is Merlin’s  _ sister _ ?”

“Who’s Merlin?” Gwen trips over her own feet as they stumble into the castle courtyard. Very few others are awake, and almost no one is functional. Short of going to the kitchens and making something themselves, which is just not happening right now, breakfast is off the table. Oh,  _ that’s funny _ . Gwen then starts giggling to herself, and Gwyn has to shake her a bit before she realizes that he’s said something.

“Merlin is Birdboy you daft woman!”

“Oh, how funny is that?” This does seem very funny, so Gwen starts laughing again. 

“You’re not going to remember a word of this conversation, are you?” Gwyn shuffles them inside, heading for some of the guest rooms that can be accessed without climbing a flight of stairs. 

“I’m not that drunk! I am tipsy!”

“You need to sober up.”

“And you need to sleep, my good sir.” Gwen bops him on the nose, because she knows that Gwyn is about to crash. He is not very good at the staying-up-all-night portion of parties. 

“If you want us to get to sleep, you need to walk faster.” Gwyn yawns. There’s a completely goofy smile on his face. 

“You walk faster.”

“I could if you were helping!” With much more half-hearted and only slightly sensical bickering, they finally make it into one of the guest rooms, collapsing onto the bed in a comfortable tangle. They both fall asleep within seconds, dreaming Beltane dreams about witches and birds.

It should be said that Merlin was very bad at avoiding trouble. While it was usually Gainê that made their plans, executed them, and dragged her adoptive brother along for the ride; it was inevitably Merlin who fucked something up and got them into even worse trouble. This Beltane party was a perfect example. 

Things had started off fantastically. There was dancing and singing and scaring drunk idiots, the latter activity causing the Fae pair to laugh themselves silly before putting their glamours back on. Then Merlin had gone off on his own for just a few minutes, because Gainê had decided to start a dance line and he was not getting drawn into something that had a bunch of drunkards within pushing distance of bonfires,  _ thank you very much _ .

He’d started dancing with a perfectly lovely woman who teased him and gave him a feather and who looked absolutely amazing in a gold and silver dress; he’d been thinking about asking her for a kiss and seeing where that might go. And then Merlin had very nearly been killed by a bear. Fine, not a bear. An infuriating blond  _ ass _ who thought that Merlin was threatening his sister’s virtue, like he’d ever do such a thing. Gainê and his mother, and probably the woman he’d been dancing with- _ she had a sword _ -would kill him, which was not necessary, because he had been raised a gentleman. Or at least a somewhat sensible individual. Either way, he would never threaten a woman’s virtue unless she asked him to.

But did the blond bear man listen to reason? NO. He just started chasing Merlin, forcing him to run for his life. Merlin had seen the Bearman begin to lunge at him again, obviously quite infuriated by being called an ass. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who was insulted often. He probably should be insulted more often. 

Right now though, Merlin should probably be running. He takes off at a sprint, weaving in between masked dancers, Players, and flaring fires that react to his magic as he panics. The part of his mind not dedicated to keeping himself alive briefly wonders how he has gotten himself into this situation. Well, okay, he knows exactly how he’s gotten himself into this situation, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially as Bearman grabs the edge of Merlin’s feathered cape, dragging him backwards at an alarming speed. He’d gotten into this the way he’d got into everything. He’d followed Gainê and then opened his mouth. Why did he do that?

He’s crushed against Bearman for a second as the actually quite muscular man attempts to punch him, but Merlin manages to undo the clasp on his cape, wiggling out of it and hitting the ground running. Bearman actually  _ growls _ . 

“Get back here and play fair, you coward!” He roars, tossing Merlin’s beautiful costume cape away. That’s just not  _ nice _ .

“See, but that wouldn’t be very fair to you, now would it?” Merlin calls over his shoulder, because he has never known when to shut up and it will get him killed one day. 

“Are you joking? I could take you apart with one blow!”

“Oh, but I could take you apart with less than that!” Immediately after saying this, Merlin remembers that he’s surrounded by humans and at least attempting to remain inconspicuous, and therefore using magic is a  _ very bad idea _ . And without his magic….Bearman is gaining on him. The blond bear looks faintly amused, but still more murderous than anything else. Oh, Merlin is going to  _ die _ . He really should have kissed the pretty girl. 

“Where do you think you’re going? Don’t run away!” Bearman sounds like he’s  _ teasing _ now, as if Merlin isn’t actually literally running for his life. Merlin dodges between two dancers who are doing something that really should be done in private, trying to lose his pursuer in the crowds of revelers. Unfortunately, Bearman is quick on his feet and has a calculating eye, seemingly knowing where Merlin is going to turn before Merlin knows where he’s going to turn. Fine then, Merlin will just have to play dirty. 

He puts on a burst of speed that brings him to the edge of the clearing, and he jumps over a pile of rocks that must have been cleared for the party. As he jumps, his eyes glow and the rocks suddenly rearrange themselves. Bearman runs right into them as he makes a too late attempt to jump. He falls flat on his face, losing his furry hat as he stands up. His hair is now mussed and muddy, and Merlin laughs at the sight.

“What’s so funny?”

“You!”

“You’re never going to win.”

“Talking to yourself, are you?” Merlin stops to taunt from a safe distance. Bearman trips again as a rock rolls in front of his foot.

“Nope!” Bearman starts to take off his shoes, a maniacal grin on his face.

“What, your poor feet hurt?”

“No, but your head is about to.” Bearman winds up, and Merlin understands what kind of situation he’s in just in time to duck. The boot goes flying over his head, heading towards a small crowd of dancers behind him. It hits a large man dressed as the King Stag-complete with antlers-square on the forehead. 

Merlin freezes, locking eyes with the Bearman. The stag-dressed man shakes his head, staring at them both. He sees Bearman’s extended hand and Merlin staring with wide eyes, correctly assuming that they are the reason he has been hit in the head. 

“YOU THREATEN THE HUNTER?” He screams, obviously quite gone on drink and Goddess knows what kind of weeds. There is an uncomfortable deranged look in his eyes.

Merlin calls it first. “RUN!” Racing towards Bearman, he grabs him by the hand. Imminent danger to both their lives creates a strange sense of comradery, and Bearman quickly snaps out of his shock to shoot past Merlin and pull him forward. He throws his other boot behind them, but it glances off the stag-man’s chest without stopping him. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Bearman pants as the stag-man draws a dagger. Their pursuer is fast and crazy and  _ armed _ .

“My turn!” Merlin drags them into a stand of tightly packed trees, whispering a spell. With a loud  _ CRACK _ , a tree branch falls on the stag-man’s head. As their pursuer falls, Bearman pushes Merlin into a hollow tree. 

Merlin’s world suddenly narrows to a dark tree and a flushed blond man on top of him. He’s changed his mind, this is a fantastic night, the best, Bearman is really quite attractive when he’s not trying to kill Merlin. His heart is being fast for at least three reasons right now. For several moments, they’re just trying to keep their breathing quiet, praying to every god and goddess that the crazy stag-man doesn’t see them. Bearman has his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck. He is very warm.

Slowy, he pulls back and meets Merlin’s eyes, whispering “Do you think he’s gone?” Merlin cranes his neck, peering over Bearman’s shoulder to see outside the tree. The stag-man is wandering away from their hiding place, dazed and shaking his head as he makes his way back to the party.

“No.”

Bearman remains firmly plastered to Merlin’s front, pinning him to the inside of the tree. Merlin grins proudly, causing Bearman to frown and wrinkle his forehead. “What?” he whispers. “Is there some kind of joke here? Look, I’m sorry for threatening to kill you-” he pauses suddenly. “The man’s gone, isn’t he?”

“ _ Nooooooo _ ,” Merlin draws out, but his smile gives him away. 

Bearman huffs out a laugh. “You’re a real piece of work. I can’t believe Gwen wanted to dance with you, I should-”

“Her name was Gwen?”

“You didn’t even know her name?” Bearman sounds outraged. 

“It’s Beltane!”

“That’s your excuse?”

“That’s everyone’s excuse! You usually don’t want to know someone’s name, you can get in some pretty compromising situations during Beltane. Like this one, for example.” Merlin wiggles his hips to emphasize that Bearman is still very much on top of him. Bearman quickly backs away, and Merlin would swear he’s flushing under the mask.

“Gwyn!” He shouts out, yanking off his furred mask to reveal a  _ very _ pleasant face. “I’m called Gwyn! I’m not some Beltane…. _ conquest _ ! I won’t be just another mask in a line of dance partners, won’t go down to the fires just because-” he waves his hand in Merlin’s direction while looking at his own boots. 

“Gwyn,” Merlin says carefully, liking the way the name feels in his mouth, “What exactly do you think we’re doing here?”

“I don’t know!” Bearman’s waving both his hands now, voice reaching an interesting pitch that can only mean he’s panicking. He doesn’t even notice when Merlin gently pushes him backwards so they can both exit the tree. “Beltane isn’t my….I don’t….this is all my sister’s fault!”

“Okay, okay, don’t hurt yourself.” Gwyn glares at him. “Let’s start over.”

“Let’s not, I’ve only just decided to not murder you for touching Gwen.”

“I think she can take care of herself. Have you seen her sword?”

“ _ I know! _ ”

“Yet you still wanted to murder an innocent,  _ me _ -” Merlin places a hand on his own chest- “for dancing with her.”

“Because Beltane dancing leads to other things!”

“Not always,” Merlin says gently.

“What would you know, you probably wanted to be here, probably want to go off and find somebody else to dance with-”

“Would you like to dance?” Gwyn chooses that moment to stop breathing. Merlin is a little bewildered by this strange human, who is at once both furious and frightened. You’d think no one had ever asked him to dance before- _ oh _ . Great, now Merlin was going to have to unbreak his brain. “I mean, unless you’re too much of a coward.” Yes, that’s the sort of thing that will get through to a fellow like this. “I get it,” he holds up his hands as he raises his eyebrows. “This is a frightening night. All sorts out there, you know. The musicians and the drinkers and those people who like line dances for some reason. And the cowards of course, your people. So afraid to try anything. But, hey, don’t feel bad on my account, I’m sure you can find plenty else to do tonight. Maybe fetch snacks for those braver than you-”

“I’m not a coward!” Gwyn spits out. There it is. 

“Oh sure, you’re all talk now, but I bet you can’t follow through. I bet you prance around pretending you're fearless when really you soil yourself every time you so much as think about dancing. I bet you won’t even have the nerve to tell me to shut up-”

“You lose that bet then!”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” Gwyn lunges at him in a mirror of their first altercation less than half an hour previously, which is Merlin’s cue to start running again. It’s different this time though. This time has none of the frantic panic and fear of being hurt, instead just the fun kind of breathlessness that comes from being chased by someone you want to catch you. Gwyn isn’t really mad, Merlin can tell. He’s just curious, and unsure where this is going. Now they have something in common.

Merlin ducks behind a tree, laughing quietly. He thinks he’s truly gotten ahead of Gwyn for a moment, so he relaxes. Of course, this is when he’s promptly tackled to the ground, finding himself face to face with Gwyn once more. “Caught you,” Gwyn breathes out quietly. “Told you, I’m not a coward.”

“I don’t know, I think you still need to prove it-” Gwyn kisses him. Merlin hums into it, quite pleased by this turn of events. Gwyn pulls away first, leaving Merlin gasping a little bit. Apparently humans are good kissers. Who knew? “Sorry, but would a coward-oh, this is what it takes to shut you up?”

Merlin nods sagely. “Very effective method of shutting someone up, kissing is.”

“Apparently not effective enough.”

“Maybe you should do it again.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you should get to it before you go grey-” Gwyn kisses him again. And again. And again.

Eventually they do get to dancing, which is more graceful than Merlin would expect. There is also a considerable amount of kissing, as well as consuming quite a bit of bubbly drink, at least on Merlin’s part. The drinking stops after Merlin loudly announces to a slightly spinning world that the only thing he wants in his mouth for the rest of the night is Gwyn’s tongue. 

(“You’re shameless, aren’t you?”

“Quite.”)

Merlin notes that Gwyn is quite proper, taking great care to put his hands in non-offensive places and blushing every time they come across revelers participating in the more risque variety of Beltane activities. He’s trying so hard, obviously trying to make up for his previous behavior, and Merlin may just be a little bit in love. He’s found a gentleman who stares at him like Aithusa stares at raw chicken, which to say with complete adoration, and it’s wonderful.

Far too soon he looks up and it’s close to dawn. He surfaces from some very nice kissing to see Gainê standing in the shadow of a tree nearby, frantically trying to get his attention.  _ Blast and brimstone.  _ “Gwyn-”

“Shhh, mouths are for kissing only right now.”

“Gwyn, I have to go.”

“Go?”

“Yeah, I’ll be missed soon.”

“Wait, go?”

“Yes, I’m going you great clotpole,” Merlin sighs as he stands and brushes himself off. 

“Wait, wait,” Gwyn scrambles to his feet. “Will I see you again?”

“Er….yes! I’ll be back tomorrow. Tomorrow at twilight.”

“I don’t even know your name.” Huh, that was a rather important detail. Well then. Merlin smiles, ignoring Gainê’s frantic gestures.

“Here’s a clue,” he says, unlacing his feathery mask and tossing it to Gwyn. Gwyn catches it gingerly, inspecting it with careful fingers. Any moment now….

“This is a particular kind of bird, isn’t it? It looks like-” Merlin cuts him off with a kiss. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Gwyn.”

“Where are you going?”

“That’s your second clue!” Merlin shouts over his shoulder as he runs towards Gainê’s hiding place. Whispering the transformation spell, he has a second to see Gainê’s face before there’s two birds taking to the air. 

A merlin flies over Gwyn’s head, smiling a bird smile at the astonished look on the man’s face. He can see the moment Gwyn figures it out, and hears the call of “Merlin!” as he catches a breeze to fly back home to Fae. 

A calm peaceful feeling washes over the merlin called Merlin, which is quickly put to a stop by the peregrine falcon known as Gainê clipping his wing. “We’re cutting it too close!” She squawks, which Merlin can somehow unfortunately understand. “Mum will have left the ambassadory ages ago n’ ages ago, what if she finds out we left?”

“Gainê, how much did you have to drink?”

“Not much.” The peregrine falcon hiccups. “I’m working on a sobering up spell, Imma master at those, you know it! Now hurrying up or we’ll get caught!”

“About that-”

“That reminds me-”

“We have to go back tomorrow!” They screech simultaneously. They take a good long look at each other, almost colliding mid-air. 

“What did you do?” Gainê accuses. 

“What did  _ you  _ do?”

“I met the woman I’m going to marry,” Gainê declares as if this isn’t complete madness. “Her name is Gwen and she’s a smith and she made her own costume including the sword, she appreciated my attempted grand gesture, and she’s an adorable drunk-”

“Did you say  _ Gwen _ ?”

“Yes, why-what did you do?”

“Spent most of the night kissing her brother.”

“Merlin!”

“Don’t judge me, Miss-I-went-and-fell-in-love-with-a-human-girl!”

“Says Mister-all-night-spent-snogging-a-human-boy!”

“We are going to be in so much trouble.” Merlin laments.

“Only if we’re found out!”

“I’m pretty sure Aunt Vivianne will notice when you bring home a human girl and say you want to marry her!”

“Stranger things have come out of Beltane! Look at you!”

“That’s a low blow, Gainê.”

“It’s true!”

The bickering continues until they’re safely within one of Dragonmount’s many caves, bodies back to human form and costumes magicked away. If no one came looking for them, they’d have plenty of time to sober up and come up with a lie that explained their strange disheveled appearances. If no one looked too closely, they’d be fine. (If anyone did look very closely though, they’d see that the duo were both fantastically lovestruck.)

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering about the strange names...all will be revealed as the story continues. But if you're curious, a variation of Morgana is Morgaine(Bright Sea Dweller), and before he was baptised Arthur, our favorite King was named Gwyddion(Shining One). I read the Mists of Avalon last month and got very inspired by the different names for everyone; they change depending on which legend you're reading.  
> (Additionally, Bridgit is the goddess of blacksmiths and crafts, if anyone was wondering, hence Gaine's compliment to Gwen)
> 
> I'm @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon on Tumblr. To everyone who's going through tough times right now, I hope you stay safe and healthy. We're gonna get though this.


End file.
